A letter from Ton
by csThor
Summary: A member of Wraith Squadron receives an unexpected letter from a deceased squadmate ... and wonders what his dead comrade could want him to know. Spoilers for X-Wing : Iron Fist and Wraith Squadron .


_**A letter from Ton ...** _

Timeframe: EU   
Time: during "X-Wing : Iron Fist", a few days before the final battle   
Spoilers: "X-Wing : Iron Fist"   
Characters: Myn Donos, Face Loran, Ton Phanan (only mentioned)

Disclaimer: The usual stuff. The StarWars Universe is George Lucas's, the characters are those of Aaron Allston (who I'd like to thank for creating Myn Donos, my alltime favourite). I'm just borrowing them.

* * *

Donos stared dumbly at the datacard in his hand. Somehow he felt like in 'Hidden Holocam'. He looked up, up and into the eyes of a rather depressed Face Loran. "If this is one of your jokes then your timing is lousy and your sense for respect is underdeveloped," he said and crossed his arms.

Face sighed. "Look, I know I can be obnoxious. But Ton was my friend, probably one of the best I ever had. I wouldn't ... I couldn't pull a prank on anyone right now. Even if he'd wanted me to."

Donos nodded. He knew that feeling all to well and he felt sorry for even considering this to be a part of some joke. _Probably your general lack of human interaction skills_, he thought in mild self-derision. "But why me?" he sighed.

"I found this among Ton's things. It was labeled 'For Lt. Myn Donos only'. I don't know what's on it." He stared down, waiting for the pang of pain that would come. There was only an empty spot in him, the empty spot of a lost friend.

Myn shuffled his feet and felt uncomfortable, not knowing what to do or what to say. He'd never been one to offer solace and he clearly lacked eloquence with words. He could see Face's sorrow and he knew how the ex-actor had to feel, but he just didn't know what to say, what to do to make it better.

"If Ton wanted you to have it," Loran said quietly, "then I want you to take it and read it. You know, I have never been religious in my whole life. But on Pantolomin the last wishes of dead people are sacred."

Myn nodded. "On Corellia, too. When I was with the military at home we used to write down wishes for the case ... well you know."

Face sighed again and Myn could hear raspy sounds. For a few seconds neither of them spoke, the one too shaken to trust his voice and the other unsure what to say. Finally Myn placed a hand on Loran's shoulder and gave him a sympathetic squeeze. "I know I'm not not most empathetic person," he said quietly. "I didn't even know how to keep myself out of trouble ... and without you and the Wraiths my carreer, my life, would have been vaped. I don't know what to say to make you feel better, but ... if you need someone to listen. Come to me."

Face swallowed and nodded. "Thanks," he mumbled and turned to leave.

Myn watched him leave and kept staring in the general direction long after Face had disappeared. What had he been doing after the death of Talon Squadron? As odd as it seemed he couldn't remember, the time between the fateful mission on Gravan Seven and the Wraith's shock therapy was like a white spot on the map in his head. He saw a few tiny snippets: Falynn smiling, missions flown, himself training with the rifle ... but nothing complex or even complete. Had he forgotten? Or had he simply refused to acknowledge?

His com squawked and brought him out of his reverie. He checked his chrono and realized that the next sim-run was scheduled in a few minutes. He eyed the datacard with a mixture of hesitation and curiosity, wondering what Ton Phanan had wanted him to know and why he'd never said anything to him, but finally shoved it into one of his pockets and closed the zipper. He would have to wait to find out.

It was not before late at night when he finally found the time to think about the datacard again. Antilles and Janson had forced them to fly one sim-run after the other, one more difficult than the last one, getting closer to the worst case with each of the simulations. They were quite thorough and when Janson had finally let them go Myn had been too tired to do anything else than having dinner, having a shower and then flopping down onto his bed. He debated with himself for a while if he should read it now or postpone it to some point in the future, when he was not tired to the bone.

Surprisingly reading it later was very enticing and he briefly wondered if his body was just requesting a break or if there was something else. The answer came fast and was as relentless as the Emperor – He was afraid of what Ton Phanan could tell him and reading it later might give him even more reasons not to read it at all. Even if he didn't know what was on the datacard he felt it had to do with his psychical problems, with the cracks caused by the disaster on Gravan Seven. He still wasn't sure if these 'timeouts' were a thing of the past, he could not be sure that he would not snap again. He was functional again, but he didn't know if he was sane.

"No." The quiet word surprised him, too. "I will not shy away again!"

His determination flared up again as he vowed not to fall back into old habits. With more purpose than he'd felt in weeks he hauled himself to his feet and walked to his com terminal. Sliding the datacard into the device he seated himself and switched on the small reading light of his desk. The card held a textfile only, no holo recording, not even audio. He did not allow his confusion to get the better of him and so he opened the file and began reading.

´

_Hello Myn!_

_I hope you don't mind me using your first name, but 'Lieutenant Donos' would be utterly inappropriate for the things I want to say. I know we have never been friends, squadmates yes and comrades in arms, too. But never friends. For the most part we were just too different for that to happen. By the way I did say a few nasty things about you back on Folor and I wanted to use this chance to apologize for them. My cynism got the better of me even though when I should have known better. But let me get to the point._

_I know myself well enough to know that we'll never have a discussion about this topic in person. I just do not have the guts to do it and I don't think I'd find the words to express what I think you should hear. So I am using a simple text as messenger, even though I know if you ever get to read this one of the Imp pilots has finally been a bit better than I. Well ... that's life. Myn ... on the outside it might look as if we two have very little in common. I am a cynic, I'm obnoxious and there's certainly more than a mere trace of arrogance in me. You on the other hand are quiet, withdrawn and a loner. But ... and here is the big catch ... none of us has been like that all the time. For you the turning point was Gravan Seven, and for me it was Endor. I believe we two have one thing in common – we two are hiding our real selves from the rest of the galaxy._

_During the Battle of Endor I was working on a Medical Frigate of the Alliance. Back then I was a young medic who wanted to help people. I was the complete opposite of the Ton Phanan you know. I still didn't have the prosthetics of today and I was looking forward to my future. But then ... then our ship got hit by an Imperial barrage which opened up the hull. I was hit by a durasteel beam, nearly molten by laser fire. I only woke up two weeks later with a metal leg, a metal arm and half of my head. From this day on I could not look into the mirror again. I could not stand seeing what I had become, this half-human half-droid. I shut down my emotions ... and with time I turned into the obnoxious cynic you know._

_I can imagine you went through the same process, maybe on different paths, but it led to similar results. When you shut yourself down after your astromech was destroyed I recognized the behaviour. I had acted similarly a short while after I was wounded. Back then my medic ripped me out of it – surprisingly also by shock therapy – but then things turned for the worse. I made a choice back then, a choice I recon you still haven't made._

_Myn, I want you to know what one of your alternatives will lead to. I know you're thinking about exacting vengeance. Don't try to tell me you're not, I just know the feeling. Look at me – after Endor I just could not stay medic anymore. I had lost all impulse to help people and I just wanted to hurt those who had hurt me. This, and only this, became the center of my life – hurting Imperials, killing Imperials – but the doctor within me is screaming all the time. It is just not me, it is not what the real Ton Phanan had wanted to do in his life. Vengeance keeps me going, the impulse to make them pay for my loss wakes me every day. I know you're also thinking about this – leaving the unit, hunting down the Imps who killed your squadron, dedicating yourself to a life of death, blood and revenge. But tell me – is that life worth living? Is that life what you imagine?_

_The short answer is no. It is nowhere near the dreams of a young man who had once dreamed of a small medical practice, of finding a woman to share his life and maybe a family of his own. The life I am leading at the moment is not even half as good, and all the good things in my life are the Wraiths. Myn – I ask you not to make the same errors I made. Yes you were hurt, yes I was hurt, but I hope you are a wiser man than I'll ever be. _

_That is all I wanted to say. I hope it get's you thinking._

_Ton Phanan – medic, superior intellect and most obnoxious member of Wraith Squadron_

´

Myn stared at the text, read it again and again. He could not believe how accurate Phanan's analysis was and he could not help but wonder if he was that transparent. He went to bed with his mind reeling and it was long before he finally drifted off into a disturbed sleep. In his head two voices were quarrelling about his future: one baiting him with the sweetness of vengeance, of revenge, of victory; the other holding a mirror for him to see a life that could be, with a wife, kids and without the emotional ionstorm of a vendetta. In the morning he awoke unrefreshed, but filled with questions and doubts. When he stared into his stubbly face in the mirror he saw a man with a choice to make, just as Ton had said. In the weeks ahead he'd decided to give in to his darker emotions, to satisfy the beast within. But today it was not as easy, in fact it was very difficult. Because the letter had shown him the consequences. Maybe Ton Phanan was right after all ...

* * *

_This is a vignette that popped into my mind and didn't let me sleep yesterday until I finally wrote it down. I hope you enjoyed it._


End file.
